


we kill our way to heaven

by seasonschange



Category: Borderlands, How to Be a Serial Killer (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Dark, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Movie Spoilers, Praise Kink, Scarred Jack, Serial Killer Jack, Slow Burn, Surprise Bisexuality, and I guess overeager protégé Rhys the company man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-08-08 04:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7744150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasonschange/pseuds/seasonschange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is the point of being awesome at killing if there's nobody to stand there and look impressed.<br/>But this guy might just do, Jack thinks, eyes trained on the lanky guy manning the cash register of the video store.<br/>He seems like he'd be a pro at the whole 'standing and looking impressed' thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zoroasterdaperetola](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoroasterdaperetola/gifts).



> I blame [@Silvia](http://zoroasterdaperetola.tumblr.com/) for introducing me to everything Dameon Clarke, including this weird little film ([you can watch it here btw](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=khuHSf5JSJs)). This fic's for you, darling <3  
> This story will follow the main plot of the movie, but I'll keep straying from time to time, and ofc it'll be way gayer than the original. There's no #Major Character Death tag because I'm 90% sure I'll never have the heart to kill off half of my ship.
> 
> Title from [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zAPhp9LYq44).

* * *

"Can I help you with-"

"Yeah, listen man, I'mma make this quick. See, my girlfriend, she sent me  _here_ ," the man explains in a deep haughty voice, the minute crinkling of his nose telegraphing he'd rather be anywhere else but in this shabby store, "because you guys are apparently the only ones who still rent those old _films noirs_  around here."

The clerk gulps inaudibly and as Jack stands all the way on the other side of the shop, he only notices the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down because he's been staring.

At that precise moment and despite the kid's rather imposing frame, he reminds Jack of a mouse. Especially compared to the other guy in the expensive suit with the sleek hair who's all but leaning over the counter like a big, powerful feline about to have himself a snack — a blatant display of dominance that's verging on  _too much_. After all, he could blow once in the kid's direction and it'd still be enough to knock him on his ass.

Jack sneers, partly hidden behind a row of DVDs he has no interest in renting. He tends to experience something akin to an allergic reaction every time he comes across that special brand of self-important assholes. They make his fingers itch — all ready to wrap themselves around the closest object and use it to beat the _living_   _crap_  out of them.

"Um," the kid valiantly begins, before losing all his nerve under the merciless scrutiny of his customer. "A-a-actually, we've had some... trouble with those. It's, um... we had to change the catalogue pretty recently, and everything's been, um... it's been quite a mess? So, um... yeah, our classification system's a little weird right now. Kinda... K-k-kinda makes it tough to find non-specific stuff." 

Jack bites back a frustrated groan. Now the kid's sweating _._

 _Rhys._ Jack only has to focus hard for a handful of seconds to remember the name printed on the kid's tag in capital letters. At this point it's almost branded in his mind — a result of all the times he's come by to watch.

To assess.

And today's visit brings the same result as usual: it seems that Rhys still hasn't learned how to stand up to the bullies, no matter how many use him as a freaking human doormat. And on the one hand it's been a truly entertaining couple of weeks; he's not going to pretend it hasn't been kind of funny to watch that nerd bend over backwards in order to please every douchebag who wants to play it Tough Guy.

But on the other hand, this routine is starting to get  _depressing_. The way the kid never talks back, never raises his voice, only ever keeps his eyes down like some scolded high-school student is... it's...

It's driving Jack out of his _goddamned mind_ is what it is.

"Looks like today's the day," Jack mutters quietly to himself, running his fingers through his hair in an unconscious attempt to appear less threatening. "Showtime, baby."

Not that smoothing down his tousled mane or straightening his shirt will ever stop people from directing their sole focus on the ugly scar instead.

* * *

"So what if I don't remember the title, huh?" Expensive Suit is bellowing like a freaking cow about to get slaughtered as Jack draws closer to the pair.

"I-I-I'm sorry," Rhys wrings his hands above the counter, shrinking back when the man keeps raising his voice. "I really can't help you if-"

"You think I'm not smart enough to remember it, is that it? You know what you are? You're a useless piece of shit! You think I'm gonna... I'm gonna stand here and do  _your_ job?"

Rhys gapes, no sound coming out of him as he blinks in total confusion. Now he looks the perfect picture of the deer caught in headlights. And if none of them does something, and  _fast_ \- Rhys is going to end up run over like roadkill by yet another entitled asshole.

For a brief, lightening-fast moment, there's a shadow clouding the kid's eyes. Something that turns the chocolate brown into rock. Something that hardens his features almost imperceptibly. 

A violent impulse that caught Jack's attention two weeks ago, and held it. 

But then the shadow is gone as quickly as it came, and it's like it was never even there.

Poor kid is going to make himself sick, Jack thinks, trying to repress his inner beast like that. It  _has got_ to be unhealthy.

* * *

"Give me the number of your manager," Mr Douchebag orders next, making Rhys startle almost comically. "I'm gonna give them my piece of mind about their moron of an employee."

The guy is pulling up his phone now, grumbling in his beard about 'the incompetence of some people'. But the moment Rhys extends one shaky arm and presents the man with the business card that must belong to his manager, the phone in the man's hand begins to vibrate.

"Shit. Gimme a sec, 'cus we're far from finished, you and I."

With one last sour glare at the young clerk, the man takes the call and quickly retreats to the back of the store for more privacy.

And Jack jumps on the opportunity to finally walk the few steps to the counter, wide smile and carefully cultivated charm at play as he slouches on it with one elbow to support him. As expected, the kid immediately jumps back upon noticing him, but only a little. And he only takes a quick, curious peek at Jack's face before politely averting his gaze away.

_Good kid._

"Can I help you with anything, sir?"

Jack almost bursts out laughing at the scripted offer.

That should be  _his_ line.

"What a dickhead, am I right?" He replies and jerks his head in the direction of the man they can both hear arguing with someone over the phone. "Someone oughta teach that guy a lesson in good manners."

Rhys gives a defeated half-shrug.

"It's okay. I'm used to rude customers by now."

"Aw, Bambi, is that so?"

"Bambi?" Rhys splutters, but it's hard to tell if he's frowning because of the unexpected familiarity of the term, or because he's totally averse to pet names.

Although Jack doesn't really care either way.

"So," he quickly prompts next, "if you could, you know... teach Fuckface McSleazy over there a lesson, what would you do?"

"A... a lesson? Me?"

Jack notices how stiff the kid's holding himself as he speaks, and the way he's standing slightly hunched over. It drives him to cluck his tongue in frustration, too tempted to snap at him to correct his posture.

"Yes, Bambi. You," he reassures him, his tone that unstable mix between patient and exasperated.

Rhys lets out a tiny laugh, eyebrows rising to his hairline.

"Well, I... I don't know. What would you do?"

The kid's obviously under the impression that this is nothing else but some guy's twisted sense of humor, and he's just rolling with it to avoid angering yet another potential customer.

Jack tries not to come on too strong while still driving his point across, but only barely manages the feat.

"Oh kid, if someone was talking to me like I was no better than an old piece of gum stuck under their shoe, it'd be a  _bloodbath_."

Finally the kid looks back up and meets his gaze without faltering this time, surprise but also keen interest sparkling in his eyes. And most of all — there's understanding.

"Maybe," he starts.

Stops.

Darts a few looks around them as if worried anyone would hear.

Jack waits patiently, confident that he won't be disappointed by whatever darkness lies behind those big brown eyes.

"Maybe... I'd wanna mess up his stupid face? Like, pretty bad?"

"Good! That's good! What else? How would you do it?"

Jack notes with open delight the way Rhys' whole frame straightens up at the praise. It's an observation that'll no doubt come in handy when he needs to keep a tight leash on his future apprentice.

"I'd-I'd rip it off with my bare hands and... and slap it on a freaking pizza or something!"

"Wow... kid, you're  _sick_."

 They stare at each other for a beat, until Jack can't keep it in any longer and dissolves into a quiet string of snickers.

"Oh God, that was really weird, wasn't it," Rhys admonishes himself bitterly, like he's used to having this effect on people, and obviously mistaking the reason behind Jack's merriness for a mockery. "I don't know why I said that."

"No, no no no. It's alright, it's-okay, I won't lie to you, that was some pretty messed up shit. You totally said you wanted to rip a guy's face off and use it to make a skin pizza. But I like that," he makes sure to add, and the timid little smile that tugs at one corner of Rhys' mouth feels like a resonating victory. 

"Are you impressed?" A faint blush colors Rhys' throat and floods his cheeks as he seeks validation, eyes downcast once more. He's the epitome of sincerity, and the desire to please. And Jack can't help finding him kind of... _cute._  In his own way.

He makes a high-pitched humming sound, faking to deeply consider the other's inquiry.

"Well, not really," he finally says. "Since you haven't exactly  _done_ anything yet. But I'm sure we'll get there, buddy."

He doesn't give the other man the option to question what he meant by that last statement and reaches out to snatch the pen from Rhys' breast pocket.

"Alright, Bambi. Let's do this!"

"Do _this?_ What? I don't... Oh.  _Oh,_ you mean..."

Jack nods, eyes briefly fluttering closed.

"Yep. I'm offering you a chance to get the life you've always dreamed about. It doesn't have to remain a fantasy forever, Rhysie! You and me, baby! We could accomplish some pretty great stuff together, don't you think? I can show you how to become a real hero, and it starts  _right now_."

He opens his arms, smile so wide it's making his scar tingle where it stretches the skin.

Rhys makes a face that comes very close to a pout.

"Why would you need _me_ , though?"

"Ah, well, life as a serial killer vigilante is kind of a lonely one. I can't tell just anyone about my hobby, as I'm sure you can imagine. And you? You're special, Rhys. You _get_ what this is about, don't you? I know you do. People like me, we always recognize our own."

Rhys shudders when Jack puts it out in the open, at last —  _yes, I'm a professional at killing people who deserve it._ But other than that and the healthy amount of fear showing in his eyes, he doesn't look too rattled by Jack's confession. 

"So, you're gonna do that with a pen?" Rhys eventually asks, putting up great effort to keep an unimpressed exterior.

But Jack can tell that he's already made quite the impression, and all there's left is the final demonstration and he'd win Rhys over completely.

"Nah, I'm gonna draw him a cute puppy."

"....Seriously?"

"Of course not!" He snaps, and then cackles at Rhys' look of utter confusion. "I'm gonna stab him in the neck until he shuts the fuck up and dies, alright? What, did you think I carry around an arsenal of weapons and shit? Fine, maybe I do — but they're in the trunk and it'd take too long, anyway. Now, Rhys. You with me, pal?"

He uncaps the pen and flips it so the pointy side is sticking out perpendicularly to his pinkie.  

And like a perfectly timed tragedy, the douchebag from earlier is saying goodbye and hanging up. From the corner of his eye, Jack can see him turn around and head toward them, so he leans across the counter and hurriedly whispers in Rhys' ear: "Wanna see how I'd do it?"

He draws back, and his nose accidentally brushes down Rhys' neck in the process. It doesn't last long, but it's enough for Jack to cope a feel of the way Rhys' blood is pulsing right under his skin there, betraying a frenzied heartbeat. He's probably never been so excited in his life before; so high on adrenaline it's like he could take on the whole world right now, and nobody would be able to stop him.

Douchebag comes to a halt somewhere behind Jack and makes an angry noise.

"Hey, asshole, I was here first."

Jack cocks one eyebrow at Rhys, still waiting for the final verdict. Rhys has that deer in headlights look on his face again, pupils blown wide and his blush even more pronounced.

When the signal finally comes, it's so small and lacking in confidence Jack almost misses it.

But he doesn't.

Rhys nods his consent — and Jack strikes.

* * *

It's messier than most of Jack's kills, but it still gets the job done.

He punches the insufferable customer in the face, then knees him in the balls, and afterwards they both drag him outside into the night where Jack straddles him while he lays on the concrete floor, and proceeds to stab him at least a dozen times in the throat.

The blood gets all over him and even catches Rhys, too, but it doesn't really matter. Rhys doesn't mind the mess, and obeys Jack's instructions afterwards to erase all the footage of the last two weeks from the video surveillance of the store with only mild complaint. And once the deed is done and they've climbed into Jack's pick-up, he's kind of got this awestruck look on his face that's making Jack just _this side_ of uncomfortable.

"So what happens now?" Rhys asks, while Jack maneuvers the pick-up out of the store's narrow parking lot and away from the crime scene.

"Now, kiddo, we begin your introduction to the lifestyle of the serial killer you were born to be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	2. Etiquette

* * *

They drive in silence for a while, the interior of the car plunged in semi-darkness, the orange light from the streetlamps sporadically flashing through the windows and casting a glow upon the driver’s unusual features.

The scar has been drawing Rhys’ attention since he first spotted it, and now that he feels a little more confident in the other man’s company, his eyes are tracing the lines of the strange mark almost avidly.

Although it appeared pink earlier, it’s currently black in the dimly lit car, and looks as if the skin’s been burned to a crisp. It’s etched across the man’s face in an upside down “V” shape, his left eyelid falling a bit heavier under its path. In the dark, he reminds Rhys of some disfigured demon lurking in the shadows, about to unleash evil magic upon the world.

It’s a very unconventional scar, and as Rhys tries to imagine what kind of object could leave an imprint like this, he keeps coming up empty. He longs to ask, and most of all he wants the reassurance that whomever is responsible for it got everything they deserved. But he doesn’t. Not yet, for fear of angering the man with such a personal question. A lot of people get tetchy about their outer appearance, especially when it’s been severely disfigured, and earlier Rhys hadn’t missed the dare into the man’s eyes.

Drawing any attention to the scar is definitely not an option. Instead, after finally tearing his eyes away from the other man’s face, Rhys tries for something more casual.

“So, what’s your name? I’m kinda at a disadvantage, here.”

He picks at his nametag, a bit nervous after breaking the silence. This whole night may feel absolutely surreal but he’s still the same awkward guy with the too long limbs, and the inability to find them something graceful to do other than fidgeting.

The man—the self-proclaimed _serial killer_ —glances only briefly at him.

“Check the glove compartment.”

Rhys follows the instruction like it’s a second nature. Not even questioning the evasive reply, instead dutifully opening his legs to be able to reach for the handle.

A small lamp embedded on the inside turns automatically on and reveals a pile of various documents and wrinkled cash receipts. But what draws Rhys’ eyes almost immediately is what lies on top of that—it’s the mask with the cruel eyebrows and the wide smile painted on it.

Rhys’ mouth drops open at the discovery.

“Oh my god,” he whispers reverently, and reaches out with a hand to ghost over the mask.

“Ahhh, I see you’re familiar with my work. I wasn’t sure you’d recognize it, not at first, but hey, kudos for proving me wrong!”

“You’re… Handsome Jack,” Rhys can’t suppress the awe in his voice, and doesn’t particularly try to. “I’m your biggest fan! I’ve been following your work for years, wishing… well, wishing I could… be like you, someday.”

Next to him, Handsome Jack bursts out laughing. He sounds genuinely amused, and Rhys’ heart flutters excitedly in his chest, pride bubbling inside him at being the cause of that laughter.

If he wanted to suck the guy's dick before, it's nothing compared to  _now_.

* * *

 

At the next crossroad, Jack maneuvers the car into a parking spot behind a gas station, and turns off the engine. “Alright, not that this chitchat isn’t fun but we don’t have much time left. We gotta time this right, kid.”

Rhys swallows nervously, watching his idol and the star of all his darkest fantasies of the last couple of years grab a towel from a compartment next to his seat and wipe the drying blood from his face and neck.

Swallowing becomes harder when Rhys’ focus shifts to the tendons of Jack’s neck, and he pictures himself sinking his teeth into those taut muscles.

“...back to the shop.”

“Hm?” Rhys startles, suddenly aware he spaced out during most of what Jack just said.

His face is burning when Jack frowns disapprovingly, before throwing the towel on the backseat. “You better pay attention, kiddo, cus if your ass lands in jail, you and I are history. So take notes, and do exactly what I tell ya. Got it?”

Rhys nods, red as a fucking tomato but eager to prove himself. Prove he can be trusted to follow every and any of Handsome Jack’s wishes.

“Atta boy!” Jack exclaims, patting Rhys’ cheek.

If possible, Rhys blushes even more as all the blood in his body rushes to his face.

Then Jack stretches across both their seats to grab the mask inside the glove compartment, and drops it in Rhys’ lap.

“Alrighty! This is what you’re gonna do…”

* * *

 

Rhys' pulse is racing as he watches his face all over the news, along with the headlines _'The Handsome Jack Strikes Again'_ and _'Witness Survives Encounter With Serial Killer'_   and many other variations of the same.

The victim was apparently a guy named Hugo Vasquez, former president of some moderately successful cyber security company in Silicon Valley. It explained the air of complete entitlement he'd had carrying himself around the shop like he owned the place. 

Rhys feels no remorse. The douchebag had it coming. 

What he feels instead is  _pride_. Deeply-rooted, all-encompassing pride at accomplishing everything Handsome Jack asked of him, and playing his role perfectly in front of the EMTs, the police detectives and even his roommates.

Nobody suspects anything. 

Nobody has an inkling that Rhys had Handsome Jack's fate in his hands last night, and chose to protect him. Erased the video footage of their encounter, wiped all the fingerprints on the murder weapon, and lied. Spent his entire stay at the police station trembling like a leaf, mumbling that he knew nothing, saw nothing, and did all that had been asked of him for fear of being hurt by the big bad killer.

God, the thrill had been maddening. Rhys had never felt so empowered in his life before, and it was addictive.

Now he needs to see Jack again, but he has no way of contacting him.

Security measures, Jack had said.

"Besides," he had added with a playful wink, "I know where to find ya."

Rhys had pouted, but hadn't pushed. Especially not after Jack had seemed amused by Rhys' reaction, and stroked his cheek to try and soothe the sting of denial.

The charm had worked, damn it. Of course it had.

Rhys has always been weak, but with Jack it's like there's nothing but Jack's will, and Rhys striving to fulfill it. That doesn't scare him, though. It emboldens him, knowing he's capable of  _anything_ if Jack demands it. He can't wait to be in the man's intoxicating presence again, and let Jack make good on his promise to groom Rhys into a professional killer himself.

As long as he can manage not to alert his roommates or his boss or, god forbid, the authorities that something unusual is up with him, he should be okay.

He _has_  to be.

* * *

 

"Rule number one," Jack says, and points grandiosely at the playground in front of them. "No kids."

Rhys stops next to him and pulls out his notebook, scribbling diligently under Jack's approving gaze.

"I don't care how annoying they can be, or how curious you are. Children are off limits."

He turns to Rhys and cocks an eyebrow. "Do you know why?"

Rhys tries not to sweat under the sudden scrutiny.

"Umm... B-because... they can't defend themselves?"

Jack nods.

And Rhys lets out a little sigh of relief.

"Yeah, something like that. We gotta have some principles, ya know. Once you start doing everything, it just... loses its purpose. See, killing isn't just about self-gratification. We gotta punish those who deserve it, but if we turn into them in the process?" Jack makes a disgusted sound. "Then, it's all fucked. And we can't have that. So, no kids."

"Are there other rules?"

"Eyyyyup. But before we continue, we're gonna take care of  _that_  asshole over there," Jack gestures discreetly at a man slinking in the shadows on the other side of the park, something inherently creepy and wrong in the way his eyes are following the kids.

Rhys would never have noticed him on his own, the man is just that good at becoming one with his environment. Notably, the tree trunk he's standing behind.

"How did you..."

"Bambi, I haven't been in this line of work for years for _nothing_  now, have I. I know how to pick _that_ sort out. Are you ready for this?"

Rhys shoves his notebook and pen back inside the pocket of his hoodie, and gives a thumb up. 

"Good boy. Let's go."

Rhys stumbles in his eagerness to follow.

* * *

 

He's not going to pretend he's not disappointed that Jack doesn't let him do much.

But he doesn't complain. There's still time. And he  _is_ very new to this, anyway. So mostly, Rhys hovers, silently watching and learning as Jack lures the creep out of his hiding place and into a narrow alley across the street.

It's crazy how  _easy_ it is for Jack to turn on the charm, and use it as an infaillible weapon.

The creep is convinced they're on his side, so of course he comes along. Rhys wonders if Jack's scar may have played a part in the guy's compliance, too, beside Jack's gorgeously wicked smile and the enticing timber of his voice. For all intents and purposes, Jack looks kind of creepy himself, there's no denying that. It's not that hard for him to play the empathy card with guys that looks as shady as he does.

Though the creep probably changes his mind about trusting them once Jack pushes him face first into a wall, and winds a length of plastic rope around his throat.

* * *

 

"Rule number two: no mentally or physically handicapped."

"Same as the children?"

"Same as the children."

"Roger that."

Jack stops in his tracks, and so does Rhys.

Rhys can feel the man's stare at his nape like a ghostly caress, and enjoys the shivers coursing through his limbs as he writes down every bit of knowledge Jack dispenses. 

Then he waits for Jack to go on.

Except that Jack doesn't.

Rhys darts a glance to his left. 

Jack is still staring. And his eyes are so dark, he can barely tell their color anymore.

"Uhh... did I... miss something?"

Rhys swallows, but there's no saliva left in his uncomfortably dry mouth. He knows the moment he's been hoping for has finally come; Jack likes him, he said so himself.

Well, not _exactly_ , but it's always been implied, and Rhys knows how to read between the lines. Jack's obviously impressed by how hard-working and passionate Rhys has been since the start. And he's going to reward him by finally giving into what they both want.

Has he finally noticed that Rhys would do  _anything_ for a chance to blow him? Has been fantasizing about it long before they met. Still jerks off every night to the thought of Handsome Jack's hands on his shoulders, in his hair, forcing him to take more of him down his throat?

He  _has_ to, with the way he's practically fucking Rhys with his eyes; scorching hot... and slowly,  _deliberately_.

Rhys is ready to be dragged back to the car. He's  _so fucking ready_ he can almost feel himself vibrating with anticipation, body growing hot and sweat running down his back.

"Relax," Jack's face suddenly splits into an innocent grin. "I was simply thinking you're such a quick study! I'm glad I picked you as my apprentice."

Rhys frowns.

_Wait, what?_

He searches the other man's face for a sign, because this isn't what he expected to hear. And it must be written all over his face.

"Something on your mind?" Jack asks, his smile turning wicked. But the hunger from a moment ago is all gone.

The way he can flip the switch on his moods is very unsettling, especially when Rhys is still very turned on and aching, pupils blown wide with desire.

_Something's on my mind, alright._

_Your dick._

This doesn't sound like the answer Jack wants to hear, though, so Rhys keeps it to himself. But does Jack really want them to completely ignore whatever just happened, or was this a sign... for something?

Despite what he wishes it could be, Rhys has a feeling it must be the former. Jack knows he's too much of a coward to ever make the first move. If he wants something from Rhys, he knows all he has to do is ask. Otherwise, it's not happening.

"Where did you go, Bambi?"

Jack's voice catches him off guard, and Rhys startles, meeting the now stone-cold mismatched eyes. 

Nope. Now it's  _definitely_ not happening. Not with the palpable warning in Jack's demeanor.

It's a depressing conclusion.

"I'm here," Rhys replies, fighting off a pout. "I was just... ugh, never mind. Tired, I guess."

"Yeah," Jack agrees in a long, drawn-out exhale. "Let's cut this one short. We can both do with a little break."

And with that, the lesson is over, and Jack is walking them back to his car for a silent ride back to Rhys' apartment.

* * *

 

"So, there's this guy at work, right?"

Moxxi nods, bringing him his portion of Chinese takeout and sitting next to him on the hood of their car.

It's already past ten, and her shift at the bar stretches usually way into the early morning hours, but Jack couldn't wait that long.

"So what's with him?" She asks, only half interested in the subject, taking a bite as she waits.

 _Well, we were discussing murder ethics today and out of nowhere, I suddenly thought 'hey, I wanna FUCK HIS BRAINS OUT_. _Like bend him over the nearest bench and screw him until he's screaming my name.'_

_And I have no idea if it's because of something he said or the way he keeps looking at me like I hung the moon or something, but he stood there looking so goddamn fuckable in his dumb hoodie I couldn't focus on anything else._

_And the worst part is that he wanted it, too. If I had my doubts before, I don't have them now._  

 _I actually have no idea how I managed_ _NOT_   _to fuck him._

_You know, just the usual._

Jack clears his throat, pushing the noodles around in their container.

When he meets Moxxi's gaze, she arches her carefully drawn eyebrows. If only she knew the extent of his freak out. But then, there are many things he's been carefully keeping from her, so this isn't anything new.

"Eh," he starts, putting away the takeout he doesn't actually want, "I don't know, Mox. He's giving me these... vibes. Or whatever. I think he's got a major _crush_ on me. And it creeps me out, that's all."

"Oh, sugar, it's hard being a stud, isn't it?" She's laughing now, and Jack is relieved she doesn't appear worried in the least. "It'll pass, don't worry your pretty head about it. Just don't break too many hearts when I'm not there, will ya?"

"Yeah, right." It's always nice of her to keep pretending the ugly scar stretching across his face doesn't exist. She knows how touchy Jack can be about it, and he'll accept any strokes to his ego, even though they're insincere as fuck.

Jack is repulsive. He knows that. He also knows Rhys' obvious boner isn't for his looks, but for _Handsome Jack,_ the serial killer. So maybe she's right, and Rhys _will_ eventually grow tired of Jack and focus more on cultivating his inner dark side. They still need to find him a 'stage name', as it is.

"I'm not encouraging him, if that's what you're implying. It wouldn't be professional."

It's good that he can talk to his girlfriend about this, because Rhys' puppy eyes have rattled him a great deal, and he'd needed to vent about it before it could drive him batshit insane. And disguising it as work-related stuff serves his cover well, which is a bonus. He needs to bring  _some_  stories to keep the illusion, it's just that they're usually complete bullshit.

This time is easier since it's true. More or less.

He's also lucky Moxxi isn't the jealous type, and will listen to him rant in peace. Too much digging into his 'work' would lead her to some gruesome discoveries, and he can't worry about her, too. He's got enough on his plate with keeping his two lives separate, and trying not to get caught.

But mostly, chatting with Moxxi has alleviated his anxiety over the subject, which is why he needed to talk to her in the first place. Now that he's downplayed this whole thing with his protégé as just a one-sided crush, it... does feel more plausible. Jack couldn't possibly have  _wanted_ the gangling, clumsy clerk he met not even a month ago. What is even remotely attractive or sexy about that goofball? Nothing.

He's just... very earnest. And sometimes, Jack can almost picture a tail wagging whenever he praises the guy. Rhys is very malleable, and he's molded himself to be the perfect assistant for Jack, end of story.

And Jack probably felt that one-time urge only because he and Moxxi have seen so little of each other lately, so he's sorta lonely.

_Can't fault a guy for being horny._

Compared to how little he sees Moxxi, he and Rhys have been meeting up almost every day, and Rhys is the only person Jack could be totally honest with, and share his vision. So that was bound to lead to some attachement on his part. It's only human. He truly  _likes_ the guy, as he always knew he would. He's polite and smart, knows how to follow orders and when to shut up. And really,  _really_ wants to get down to business, whenever Jack will deem him ready.

Jack is going to make an  _amazing_ serial killer out of that kid.

What happened that afternoon was just a slight hiccup. And it'll never happen again.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be the part where Bart meets Mike's gf and jealousy ensues, but I'm still figuring out how I'mma transpose it to this story. Cus I want them to bang. But keep it slow burn. But bangin'. But slow burnnnnnnnnnnnn. IN ANY CASE, sorry for being so slow. As usual, I tried(TM).


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